


Rise Up

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Shapeshifting, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22011124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Ryan doesn’t have time for this, children’s stories of a man in a bearskin cloak who came to their small village a week ago.
Relationships: Ryan Haywood/Michael Jones
Comments: 20
Kudos: 87





	Rise Up

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](https://vagrantblvrd.tumblr.com/post/189926461671/uberguber89-oopsprompts-isnt-the-idea).
> 
> Because reasons. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Ryan doesn’t have time for this, children’s stories of a man in a bearskin cloak who came to their small village a week ago.

Traveler, like him, or so he was told. Passing through a quiet little mountain village at the foot of a mountain and waylaid by the locals being harassed by a creature in the woods. Some monstrosity that sounded far too much like the others that had started Ryan on his own quest, dark and menacing and emanating an aura of malice and deep endless hunger that would never be sated.

The man had failed to return and while the adults seemed resigned to another life lost to said creature, the children were not.

Seemed to think Ryan would feel a kinship with a fellow traveler – far too many bedtime stories told by their parents with noble heroes and brave adventurers and not enough of the world’s harsh realities mixed in, perhaps. Appealed to him to at the very least discover the man’s fate, bring word to the children who’d grown fond of him during his brief stay in their village.

And now - 

Well, and now.

The creature slain, dead at his feet after a protracted battle and its lair a veritable charnel house as he delves deeper into the network of caves it had settled into.

Missing villagers and nomads and other travelers hoping to use the nearby pass to cross the mountains this time of year. Farm animals the villagers thought lost to natural predators and other remains he picks his way past.

Doesn’t expect to find the traveler alive after he’d gone missing this long, but there’s a noise.

Rhythmic banging and low snarling that echoes oddly against the rock walls of the cave system. 

The blade in his hand is cool to the touch, no soft glow to it the way it does when in the presence of the unnatural creatures that have sprung up recently. Foul things that uprooted him from his quiet life, sent him on a fool’s errand of a quest to find its source with only a spelled blade to help in that regard.

Like the fool he is, Ryan calls out when he reaches what must be the end of the cave system. Light from torches or some other source that cast strange shadows. The noises he’s been following louder, closer.

Some distant hope that it’s the missing traveler and not someone worse than the creature he’s just slain that’s making the noises he’s followed and freezes when the banging and snarling stop.

Sighs as he hears the sound of snapping bone, a crack, a pop, and a low groan of pain.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters, and forges on ahead to face whatever is making those sounds.

Another cave creature or worse, and stumbles when instead he sees a figure, human in shape.

Bearskin cloak and a bone from one of the skeletons littering the floor he’s using as a club as he swings at the stone bars he’s locked behind.

Clearly magical in nature as sparks fly from them as the bone club connects and the banging noises Ryan heard earlier make sense, as does the snarling when the man spits out a low curse.

“Well,” Ryan says, somehow baffled at these turn of events, at finding the traveler with the bearskin alive after so long. “This is a surprise.

========

Ryan learns the traveler in the bearskin cloak’s name is Michael. That he’s on a bit of a quest himself and is something of a contrary person.

Intends to push on through to the mountain pass even though a sudden storm breaks out the moment they leave the caves.

Cold and chilling, threatening snow that could strand the unprepared in the mountains. Lead to their death.

“Or it might pass in few hours,” Michael says, head tilted back to eye the sky almost angrily. “Nothing more than an annoyance at best.”

He’s not wrong, but after the fight with the creature and other discovers in its caves, Ryan’s not willing to chance such a thing himself.

“As you will,” he says, and turns away from the path leading the pass.

He’s expecting the annoyed sigh from behind him. (Indeed, a great may things seem to exasperate Michael.

What he’s not expecting is the sound of footsteps or Michael falling in beside him. Shorter than Ryan, it’s true, but there’s a presence to him that makes Michael a rather imposing figure.

The bearskin cloak he wears as though it’s nothing, or the sword slung over his back perhaps. Ease of movement as though he’s fully aware of what his body is capable of, a warrior who knows his worth.

_Something._

Michael notices Ryan studying him, eyes narrowing as he bares his teeth.

“What?”

Ryan bites back laughter because there’s something almost charming to Michael’s gruffness, defensiveness.

“Nothing,” Ryan says, and turns his focus to the path before them. “Nothing.”

========

The villagers greet them with the same kindness Ryan took note of when he first set foot there a few days before. Warm smiles and generosity, and no little surprise at seeing Michael alive and well after his disappearance.

They’re lead to the village’s meeting hall where Michael distracts the children by nature of being himself while Ryan meets with the village elders regarding the creature. 

Answers their questions upon questions with outrageous stories of how he got his bearskin cloak. The enemies he’s slain with that sword of his, the scars not covered by his armor or cloak.

Regales them with stories Ryan half-remembers from his old childhood, tales told before fires on the trail or before a burning hearth.

Keeps them entertained while Ryan speaks quietly with the village elders about the creature and other discoveries made exploring the caves it claimed as its own.

He tries to turn down their offers of gifts, rewards, for aiding them. Uncomfortable after his own annoyance at having to delay his quest, his selfishness, but they won’t hear of it.

Insist on having him and Michael stay in the rooms above their modest little tavern at no cost to them until the storm clears at the very least, and it’s reasonable enough Ryan can’t find a reason to say no.

========

“Leaving so soon?”

Ryan turns to look up. Spots Michael above him on the stairs.

It’s early and even the most enterprising of villagers are still asleep. A good time to leave, continue on his quest with little fuss to be made. (Or so he’d thought, but it seems Michael has a differing opinion.

“The storm’s cleared up,” Ryan says, gesturing at the window beside him. 

Only a few inches of snow, nothing insurmountable. 

Michael eyes him, and sighs. Makes his way down the stairs surprisingly quietly given he doesn’t seem much for stealth.

“A poor excuse,” he says, but there’s amusement to his words as he looks up at Ryan, a faint smile. “But it suits you.”

Ryan’s sure he’s just been insulted, laughed at, but Michael's pulling his cloak off the hook by the door and checking to make sure his sword is secured. Gives Ryan an impatient look for wasting his time as he waits beside the door.

“Well?” he says. “What are you waiting for?”

========

By the time the sun crests the horizon, Ryan is beginning to question why Michael is still traveling with him. 

They made it through the mountain pass and miles beside with little trouble. Come across several paths Michael could have turned down, places for them to make their goodbyes and Michael is still at his side.

Grumbling and nitpicking whenever Ryan pauses to pull out the maps he brought with him, odd little contraptions to gauge the passing the of the sun and so on.

Plenty of opportunities for Michel to head his own way, continue wherever he was headed before his meeting with the creature, _and yet_.

“I’ve only met one other as foolish as you,” Michael comments, snacking on an apple he plucked from a tree in passing ages ago. “And even he has more common sense than you seem to.”

Well.

Michael wouldn’t be the first to say something along those lines to Ryan. (Nor the second or third, for that matter.)

Ryan sighs, casting Michael a look that he gets back with interest, raised eyebrows and all.

“Isn’t the idea supposed to be ‘you saved my life, now I owe you a debt’?” Ryan asks, because he knows the stories people tell.

Ones he heard once upon a time himself, young and naive and far more foolish than the man he’s grown up to be.

While Michael is hardly some magical creature or whatever else in one of said stories, Ryan technically saved his life. The least he could do is be a bit kinder in his assessment of Ryan and his failings.  
Michael snorts.

“Nope. Other way round. You saved my life, so now I’m your problem. If you don’t like it, then kill me.”

The smile he gives Ryan is toothy, something to it that dares Ryan to take him up on that last bit. (Says Ryan would regret trying, but why not have a go of it anyway, hmm?)

“Of course,” Ryan sighs again, smile sneaking its way into things because there’s just something about Michael. “Of course.”

========

A week later the manage to stumble into an ambush set up by a pack of bandits. Thick forest and babbling brook and an arrow in Ryan’s leg that takes him to the ground.

Michael snarling as he draws that gleaming sword of his and drags Ryan to cover, a hiding spot for time being, leaning over him as he assesses the wound.

Michael swears at what he finds. 

Nothing life-threatening, but a hindrance all the same. 

“You asked me,” he says, grabbing at one of Ryan’s daggers to tear a strip of fabric from his clothes to bind the wound, keep the arrow immobile until they can see to it properly. “You asked me how it was I came to be in those caves, how I managed to survive.”

Ryan winces, gritting his teeth as Michael pulls the fabric tight around his leg and ties it off with deft fingers.

Doesn’t speak, because they both know the answer to that. Merely watches Michael work, listens to the sounds of the bandits and their hounds drawing closer to their hiding spot.

“I didn’t answer you then,” Michael continues, because he hadn’t, had he? Had derailed the conversation and gone on a rant about something or other Ryan can’t remember at the moment.

Michael laughs, looks up to meet Ryan’s eyes as he claps a hand to his shoulder and squeezes, reassurance and promise in one.

There’s a howl nearby, loud and wild and Michael’s lips stretch into a grin, toothy and dangerous, and he moves to meet the bandits and their hounds and leaves his sword with Ryan as he does.

Pauses to look back at Ryan. Gives him a toothy smirk becoming toothier as Ryan watches. Sharp and dangerous and his voice growing rougher until it’s a growl.

“The gods wanted me dead, and now you get to find out why.”

Ryan stares after him as Michael strides into the clearing quickly filling with bandits and their hunting hounds, and scrambles to his feet to help. A ferocious a warrior as Michael's proven himself to bee in the past days traveling together, even he cannot hope to defeat them all himself - 

And freezes as Michael laughs, growl to it as his form changes, shifts.

His bearskin cloak no longer a simple cloak, intimidating as it is on its own. The necklace of claws around his neck no longer trophies from a long ago hunt.

 _Oh,_ Ryan thinks, Michael’s sword hanging loosely in his hand as Michael stands tall on his hind legs, fur and fang and fury as he lets out a bellow of rage, challenge. _Oh_.

========

When the fight is over, the bandits and their hounds all either dead or having fled in terror, Ryan finds himself facing a monstrously sized bear.

Scarred from past fights, battles, and watching Ryan.

Carefully, curiously.

Waiting to see what his reaction will be, intelligence behind those dark eyes he knows well. (Well enough, he’d thought, even though they haven;t known one another all that long at all.)

The bear’s wounded, a gash along one side and an arrow in one massive shoulder that seems to be more of an annoyance than any real danger. Patches of fur torn out where some of the hounds had dug in, but again nothing that seems to be any real danger.

Ryan considers the bear, and then sighs as he shakes off the warnings and cautions that came with the stories of shifters he’s heard before now.

Those cursed by the gods for some crime or another, doomed to wander the world as they would until their dying day as penance for said rimes. Cold, cruel individuals whose animal natures were said to be reflected in their animal forms and so on and so on, and yet?

The bear is undeniably Michael, and all those stories Ryan’s heard before now are simply that. 

Stories, told generation after generation and who knows what kind of truth lost along the way to be replaced by superstitions and fears.

Michael chuffs as Ryan hobbles over to him, reaches out a hand to touch him.

Makes a token effort of baring his teeth – fangs? - as Ryan settles his hand on his head between his ears.

Thick, coarse fur and a question in the eyes that meet his. Slight tilt of his head, low grumble.

Ryan cocks his own head, questions flooding his mind because whatever secrets Michael was hiding, he certainly wasn’t expecting this.

“Well,” he says, feels his lips twist into a small smile as he looks the bear-shifter over. “This is a surprise.”

Michael stares at him for a long moment, and makes this low grumbling sound that sounds as though it might be a bear-ish sort of sigh as he pushes his head against Ryan’s shoulder and nearly bowls him over.

Definitely an unexpected twist to his quest, but he’s certain it won’t be the last.


End file.
